Rose and the Thorn (Fallen Tales series)

Chapter 8

Chapter 8
Rose
Patrick was now different. For the past week, instead of hiding in the shadows of the gallery, he would come down stairs. I often found him in the library, or the sitting room. Sometimes, we would have to run into each other down a narrow hallway that connected the front of the house to the back. We both groaned at each as we struggled past. 
The back of the house was even grander than the front. With a huge ball room, which was bigger than all the places I've lived in combine. A chandelier hung from the roof, with diamonds that sparkled when the light that creeped through the maroon curtains caught them. I mopped the wooden floor annoyed that I couldn't see what the room looked like.
The bloody bastard. He was robbing me of something I would never get again. Living in a mansion. Even if it wasn't mine.
I knew that there was a painting on the roof, but everything was shadowed, thanks to your highness.
For the past week I had been listing all the things I hated about him.
Arrogant
Rude
Always gets his way
Rich kid
Probably never worked a day in his life
His temper
Has secrets
Keeps this beautiful house in the dark.
Selfish.
Lucky for him, I didn't have that ugly bruise on my wrist anymore. Or I was going to do some serious damage to his face. Though those scars kind of did it for me. I hated the feeling of being small, helpless. And bruises made me feel that. I didn't need a knight in shining armour to save me. I can easily escape the evil witch by myself. The knight would just get in the way. 
I sighed feeling rage build up in me again. I was going to have it out with him again. And how dare he tell Jenson what happened? He needed to be told. I dropped the mop and headed to the hall. It led me to the void which led me to the stairs. When I got to the top, I heard grunts. Like something I would think a boxer would sound like. Instead of going down the hall which led me to the West Wing, I went down the gallery. The sight was amazing. I could see everything from up here. No wonder I felt eyes everywhere. Because he was everywhere.
I followed the sound of the groans to a door that was slightly opened.
Patrick's shirtless body was back to me. I could see the sweat rolling off of him as he punched Jenson. They were...boxing. Jenson protected his face as Patrick attacked. One, two, three, he punched. It was amazing to watch him fight. Like he was a warrior, fighting for something unjust. It made him even more interesting if that was even possible.
But it showed something between the two. Jenson was more than his butler. His teacher, his carer. How long had it just been the two of them in this house? It made me wonder just how connected these two were.

Patrick
Rose was now less jumpy around the house. She walked around it as if she knew it. It occurred to me that she seemed very at home for someone who just moved in over two weeks ago. I've lived here all my life, and some days I don't even recognize it. Her beauty was now hidden by the darkness I forced her to wear. No one could see my face.
But now I started to found my feet. I let myself roam the house without feeling the urge to be sick like I use to in the first year of being alone. Though I still avoided my family's rooms and the dining room, I found myself sitting in the family library. A place I often went to when I needed peace from my sisters fighting, my mother's worry about festivals and my father's complaining about money to Jenson. It was my quiet room.
I walked down the stairs and spotted Rose at the top of a ladler, near one of the curtains.
"What do you think you're doing?" I asked feeling anger starting to boil inside of me.
She groaned behind her hanging arms at the sound of my voice, "What does it look like?" she snapped trying to catch her breath. Her body was sculptured beautifully as she tried to balance herself. Her beautiful legs seemed longer and her breasts seemed to want to fall out of her simple black singlet. The reaction of my body made the anger worse.
"I said nobody was to touch the curtains, not even Jenson!" I had to yell so she could hear me.
"How do you expect me to work when I can't see what I'm doing?" she snapped.
"You can see fine, now come down," I ordered.
"I don't think so," she dropped her arms knowing that this conversation was going to be long, "You might have a lot of money, live in a huge house, have a butler. But you can't control me. You know why?"
"Because you're an American," I suggested.
"What, no," she frowned as if I insulted her.
"Female."
"What?"
"Why can't I control you?" I asked rubbing my temple. God she was stubborn.
"Because I have rights!"
"Not in this house. Now come down," I ordered again. She raised her eyebrow to signal a challenge. I matched her by crossing my arms. I wasn't going to be undermined by an American. No, I wasn't going to be undermined by an American female.
At that point, Jenson came out of the library with a tray of silver.
"Jenson, may you please tell Miss Rose to stop touching the curtains and come down from the ladler?" I asked him.
He sighed, "Sir, all due respect, you got yourself into this mess, you have to get out yourself."
I groaned as I heard Rose snicker under her breath, "Rich Kid."
I looked up, "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. I might be a head strong American. But you're an English Rich Kid."
"I'm not English, I'm British," I stated.
"I'm pretty sure it's English."
"I think I would know."
"You would think."
I was tired of playing her games and she knew it. But I couldn't lose this fight. If I did my little world would change, again. The darkness was the only thing that kept me away from the outside world.  And that world was darker than inside the mansion.
"Rose, what is the point you're trying to make?" I asked wanting her to stop this nonsense.
"Well, Patrick, I come from a world where mansions don't exist. And now I'm in one, I want to see it. And I can't in the dark."
I nodded hearing her argument, "Okay, well I come from a place where I need to hide from the world and the world needs to hide from me. And the curtains are doing a great job of that. Now can you please come down?" I was now begging.
She sighed, "Fine."
I watched her with careful eyes as she made her descend.
"You're still a Rich Kid," she stated.
"And you're still American. How the hell did you get this in the house?" I said looking at her, small, and the ladler, huge. She couldn't do it by herself.
"The tractor," she answered.
I frowned, "The what?"
"The tractor, the one near the stables. That's where I also found the ladler too."
"You did this by yourself."
"Yeah," she looked at me as if I was stupid. My eyes locked with her auburn eyes. How I could get so lost in them? She blinked breaking me out of my trance.
"Well then you can put it back."
She groaned as she started to pack it up.
Once again it was interesting to watch her at work. She folded the two sides together then walked backwards to slowly lower it to the floor.
I coughed and made my way up the staircase. I felt her watchful eyes every step of the way. The hardest thing was forcing myself to not to look at her.